


Worthy of Eden

by Wealthywetsunny



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Angst, Bunker, End of the World, M/M, Soulmate AU, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25307101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wealthywetsunny/pseuds/Wealthywetsunny
Summary: The day the world goes up in smoke is the day Rook’s life ends. The Seeds make sure of that. They pull him out to the flames to cleanse him, to see that he’ll walk through New Eden. It’s a shame then that the man they put through hell is their soulmate.
Relationships: Jacob Seed/Rook, John Seed/Rook, Joseph Seed/Rook
Comments: 10
Kudos: 96





	Worthy of Eden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [9shadowcat9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/9shadowcat9/gifts).



Jacob has a hand tangled in the front of his shirt, the other curled around his waist and _squeezing_ whenever Rook’s steps falter. He’s making a show of this, parading _the_ deputy Rook through the halls as Peggies jeer and laugh and Jacob does nothing about it. Nor does Joseph, who’s a few steps ahead and parts the crowds like he really is Moses reincarnated. That surprises Rook, makes him wonder where The Father went, the one who preaches love and acceptance. 

His feet are throbbing, bare as they are and covered in blisters. He lost his shoes up above when John grabbed his ankles and tried to yank him close. His socks burnt to ash as soon as he got back up on his feet and ran. He didn’t get far, couldn’t even if he wanted to. The earth shook beneath them and tossed him to the ground. Burning his soles away in the process. 

He keeps tripping because of the pain. He’s starting to get annoyed each time Jacob’s grip tightens and prevents him from falling. At least then he’d get some rest, some reprieve for his aching muscles. 

John is walking alongside Jacob, the hint of a smile juxtaposing against his brother’s glare that seems to pierce right through him. 

“He’ll need a shower,” Jacob says idly when they get a moment of peace. 

“That’s low on the list of priorities.” John responds, a hand carding through Rook’s hair. The action makes him hiss through his teeth, he must’ve bumped his head somewhere above. “He’s due for some kind of punishment. He’s the reason Faith isn’t here to rejoice with us.” There’s a dangerous edge to John’s voice that tells Rook not to answer. For once he doesn’t speak back, he keeps a leash on his snark because he’s not stupid. He’s on mighty thin ice. 

The cell he’s led to is different from what he remembers the last time he was in John’s bunker. It lacks any bars, instead there’s a heavy metal door that’s cool to the touch when Rook’s body sways and he falls against it. 

No one warns him when they unlock the door and swing it open. They let him fall, watching as he lands face first and rattles his jaw. His teeth clamp down on his tongue and he yelps, legs kicking out weakly and accidently hitting John. 

He hears John give a low snarl of disapproval before the kick to his stomach shoves him the rest of the way inside. The door closes before he has a chance to right himself. He gets trapped in darkness without anyone to bear witness.

He can’t keep track of passing days without any light. He tries his best to listen to what’s going on outside the door, sometimes he sits against it, his ear pressed on the metal as he strains to hear. More often than not he passes out and loses track once more, unaware of how many hours or days have passed since he’s been forced into his cell. 

He starts to lose his mind like that. He sees things in the dark, shapes that don’t make any sense. Shadow people that frighten him as they creep in the corners and along the ceiling. It’s all a mind game. A way to make him snap until he’s ready to submit. And it’s working. The longer he’s alone the longer he’s left with his thoughts. It’s like that when he begins to understand that there’s no way out, that there’s no point to resist because where would he go? 

Rook’s asleep when the door finally opens. He’s dreaming of the mountains, of the time when he set off a string of fireworks and nearly blew off his fingers. John wakes him with a foot pressing hard into his belly. 

It works, has him gasping at the sudden pain. He reaches up blindly and grabs at John’s pant leg, scratches at his ankle until the Baptist applies more pressure and snarls a sharp “behave!” 

Rook goes limp in an instant, recognition ticking the depths of his mind. His head falls back on the cement to look up at John, following the sound of his voice. Rook’s eyes are watering, the light from the hallway a stark difference from the darkness of his cell. 

“Joseph wants you cleansed of your sins. He says you’re worthy of Eden.” John sighs and digs the tip of his shoe further into Rook stomach. John disagrees with big brother and he makes it obvious. “Your transgressions are great, deputy. You have no one to blame but yourself for what happens next.” 

John nods his head and two men grab Rook by his arms. They haul him to his feet and it’s then that Rook notices the bloody trail he’s left around the room like a dying slug. 

His feet sting when he gets them under him. His legs threaten to give way as he’s moved forward, pain rushing through his body just as his head begins to spin.

He thinks he’s going to throw up. 

“Don’t,” John warns.

Did he say that out loud? 

John laughs, trailing along behind Rook. His men already seem to know where to take him. John doesn’t speak much, giving fleeting hello’s here and there as they pass people by. Rook tries to keep an eye out for anyone he knows. Any of his friends, but his vision keeps going black and he stops looking. 

“Leave us,” John says once they come to a stop in a room that feels twenty degrees cooler. “Wait outside.” 

Rook takes a slow look around and startles when he feels John’s hands on him. “You’re going to take a shower. You have three minutes.” John helps him undress, moving mechanically as he undoes buttons and yanks off his clothes. His eyes don’t wander, nor does his hands. This is a task that needs to be done and he does it well. 

He shoves Rook under a shower head and presses his palm against a grey button Rook hadn't noticed before. The spray of water that comes down is just as frigid as the rest of the room. He sucks in a breath and shifts on his feet, considers running as his body takes in the shock of such cool water. His head tips back instinctively to wash his face, he’s been covered in dust and mud since the bombs went off.

He knows his face must be cut up because the water stings as it runs down his skin. 

It takes a second before he’s opening his mouth and to drink. Three minutes isn’t too long but he needs this more than he needs to be clean. He does run his hands over his body though. Jumping across his ribs and chest, squeezing the muscles in his thighs to push blood through them. He doesn’t wash his feet—he needs a doctor for that. The skin is tearing off, giving way to the pinker, more sensitive flesh beneath it. 

The shower comes to a fast halt. Leaking water onto his head as he stands there shaking. 

“Here.” John throws him a set of clothes. A beige shirt and some loose fitting sweatpants. No underwear—and he doesn’t ask for any. At least he isn’t being forced to wear anything with their cross on it. 

John stands in front of him and holds Rook’s jaw between his fingers. He tips his head this way and that, examining him under the artificial lighting. “Now we can start,” he whispers gently. But Rook isn’t naive, he knows John well enough, he sees the wrath that shines in his eyes despite his calm tone. “Follow me.” 

Rook sees John everyday after that. Their time together is painful, so different from the way he had first been ignored that Rook finds himself longing for the way John hurts him. He feeds off it the same way John gains life each time Rook cries out as the blade cuts his skin and marks him. 

“You’ll wear these sins,” John tells him as he straddles his lap. “I won’t cut them off of you—you’ll be an example for all the other sinners here.”

Rook perks up at that, head raising weakly. “What other sinners?”

John smiles, twisting the blade in a little too deep on the ‘V’ of envy. “Joseph was very kind. He allowed those who opposed us to seek refuge underground. They’ll be cleansed like you.” 

Rook closes his eyes and lets John finish. 

Joseph comes the next day, takes a seat on a folding chair that he brought with him and smiles fondly at Rook. Joseph tells him it’s been five weeks. 

Rook wants to cry. He tries to stop it, shoves a palm against his eyes to ease the pressure of tears but still a whimper slips free. 

“Hush,” Joseph reprimands, leaning forward and nudging Rook with his shoe. “None of that is necessary. I’m here to help.” He extends his hand and looks at Rook expectantly. He doesn’t immediately take it, for what he assumes are obvious reasons. Joseph clicks his tongue and the Peggie behind Rook pistol whips him. 

He takes Joseph's hand. His scarred sins begin to itch. 

“You and I are going to talk. That’s all.” Another smile, small and reserved with a hint of teeth. “You’re going to learn from these chats the same way the young children learn from my sermons. We’ll start from scratch and build a foundation together.” He leans forward, the blue of his eyes seeming impossibly brighter without his yellow lenses. “How do you feel about that, deputy?” 

Again he struggles to answer. It’s easier with John. He knows what John needs, what he craves when he crouches down with a knife in his hand and teeth bared. He isn’t sure what Joseph wants from him and so he keeps quiet. 

Joseph frowns and his eyes flick up to behind Rook. The Peggie hits him again on his temple. 

“How do you feel about that?” Joseph asks again. 

Rook’s nostrils expand, breathing noisily. “Fine.”

Another hit, this one makes his vision go black before Joseph puts a hand on his shoulder and rights him. “The truth. I don’t want any secrets between us. There’s no need for that.”

Rook nods. Everything hurts. His stomach especially, he can’t remember when his last meal was. 

“I’m nervous,” he whispers, glancing at Joseph and hating the way he feels the need to cower. This isn’t _him,_ he isn’t like this. But they’ve changed him so quickly, so easily. He doesn’t remember who he was before. 

Joseph smiles and pats his cheek. “Good. Let’s begin.” 

The teachings he delivers border on inane ramblings that Rook can’t quite keep track of. They’re strung together poorly, as if Joseph hadn’t come prepared at all. Like he didn’t know what he wanted to talk about and is saying whatever comes to mind. It’s hard for Rook to follow, which makes it so much more difficult to respond when Joseph expects him to. 

He thinks maybe Joseph’s doing this on purpose. That he wants to hurt Rook and so he’s making him trip up just so he has an excuse to hurt him. It’s fair, to a point. He killed his sister. Came too damn close to killing his brothers. 

Some small part of Rook believes he deserves this. 

But then Joseph leaves him alone with a bloody nose and spit lip and what he assumes is a concussion and he realizes that no one deserves this. 

Rook can’t sleep. He’s a bundle of nerves, a hot electric wire that refuses to turn off despite how tired he feels. 

It’s hard to keep his thoughts straight when he’s left alone for so long. When no one comes to see him for days at a time, when for some reason, his cleansing is put on hold. Those are the worst moments of all. When he doesn’t get to see one of the brothers, when it’s just him and the darkness. 

He craves the company they bring. Even if they only bring pain that shows no end. He likes when Jacob comes best of all—it’s more stimulating, he challenges Rook’s brain and tests his muscles. It’s much better than the winding hallways he has to navigate with John and Joseph. It’s so much more straightforward with Jacob. 

Even if Jacob is just as angry as his siblings. Turns out that's what happens when you try to kill a guy. 

“C’mon, again.” Jacob’s arms are crossed over his chest, a smile pulling his lips back to reveal sharp canines. “Let’s go,” he bends down to meet Rook’s gaze, hands on his knees to keep himself steady. 

Rook spits up blood, prays that Jacob didn’t crack a tooth from that hit. Rook blinks wearily and eyes the door. It’s open just a crack, letting light in. It’d be stupid to go for it, he’ll take his chances running from John, not Jacob. So instead Rook lunges at him, tries to take his feet out from under him but doesn’t anticipate the way Jacob side steps him. 

Rook slams into the opposing wall, shoulder jamming painfully. He only has a moment to register that before Jacob grabs the back of his shirt and knees him in the stomach. Rook folds after that. Goes down hard and hopes that’s enough for today. 

“Are you done?” Jacob asks, hands idly resting on his hips. 

Rook licks his cracked lips, eyes struggling to stay open. “What does this have to do with being cleansed?” He challenges, because Jacob will be the only herald he’ll ever ask. Jacob doesn’t believe, he won’t spout bullshit. 

And true to form Jacob doesn’t miss a beat. “Nothing. It’s punishment, some stress relief for us. Your actions have consequences, y’know? And now you’re paying for what you did.”

Rook hums brokenly, content with that answer, and Jacob doesn’t go him any further. He slips through the open door and shuts it behind him. Back to darkness once more. 

John comes to him that same day. A knife tucked into the waistband of his jeans and a tattoo gun in his hand. 

“Deputy Rook, I hope you’ll continue to behave for me. We’ve been doing so well.” He sits down in front of Rook on the floor, hands finding Rook’s shoulders to pull him away from the wall and closer to him. “And because of that, I want to give you a present.” He smiles, leaning in so close that Rook can see his freckles. “A reward of sorts.”

That word sets off something inside Rook’s brain, makes him sing with a sort of anticipation and pleasure he thought was long gone. He swallows to start speaking, it hurts. 

“What kind of reward?”

John’s smile widens, looking for all in the world like the cat that caught the canary. “A tattoo, one I designed myself especially for you. It’s an honor you know,” John rambles, reaching into his back pocket to pull on a pair of black gloves. “To bear a mark that represents Eden.” 

The buzzing hum of the gun is familiar yet strange all at once. It brings him back to when there was still an outside world to return to, when John etched Wrath onto his chest, back when Rook didn’t have scars to match John’s. 

The first press of the needle on his skin makes him jump, has John smoothing a hand over his cheek as he leans in closer to the exposed skin of his ribs. 

Rook doesn’t try to peek at what John is doing, he keeps his head tipped back against the wall and ignores the way John touches him. He hates the faux gentle way John pets across his cheek fondly. 

John’s heavy handed, he pushes down too hard more often than not, his strokes are long and harsh and Rook has a feeling that John didn’t do his tattoos himself. He's lousy at it. 

“Look,” John urges, a hand curling around the nape of his neck to pull him down. “Do you like it?” 

Rook blinks a few times, tries to understand the black swirling ink that’s on his body. It’s ringed with red, the skin angry and agitated, making it harder to read. He gets it eventually, when It’s obvious John isn’t going to tell him. That for some reason he’s patient today. 

The cross of Eden’s Gate stretches across his ribcage, messy birds flying on either side of it. It’s good for what it is. 

Rook drags his eyes away from the tattoo and nearly chokes. The front of John’s jeans are tented with arousal. He’s hard, his cock long and thick in his boxers, pushing to be free. Rook blinks. This has never happened before. John’s never gotten off on Rook’s pain before—then again Rook had never bothered to look down there. 

John stands, a hand ruffling Rook’s hair before he repeats his question. “Do you like it?”

“Yes.”

John smiles and leaves. He doesn’t wrap Rook’s tattoo. It gets infected three days later, much to Joseph’s chagrin. Though maybe that was fake; it’s a very real possibility that a cult leader is good at faking distress. 

Rook still hasn’t been sleeping properly, but he doesn’t think to mention it. What’s the point? So when Joseph visits him he finds it hard to track the man as he struts across the room. Rook keeps slipping out of consciousness, catching bits and pieces of what Joseph is talking about. He gets the gist though, when Joseph kneels beside him and tucks him into his side with a punishing touch. 

Joseph’s fingers wrapped around his shoulders are rough. He’s angry. 

“John said you’re not yet clean. That you sinned the last time he saw you.”

Rook tries to crane his neck up to look at Joseph where he’s pressed into his side, but Joseph grabs his chin and forces his face against his chest. He smells like soap. 

“Lust is a dangerous thing, Rook. Everyone struggles with it.” Joseph’s hand strays, goes from his shoulders to wind around his waist. To an outsider the scene would be cute. Domestic even. But Rook isn’t under the impression that Joseph suddenly cares. 

His fingers tap on Rook’s pelvis as he speaks. “You understand you need to atone, yes?”

Rook sighs, looking up at Joseph’s guards. He’s not in the mood for another concussion, even if he’s itching to tell Joseph that John is a liar, that his precious Baptist is the one who sinned. 

“Yes, Father.”

“Good.” Joseph’s hand wanders up, rucking his dirtied shirt higher until he can prod at Rook’s tattoo. It’s gone a nasty shade of red and purple, leaking something it probably shouldn’t be. “That’s very good.” 

Joseph pushes harder until Rook’s vision skews and he tastes bile in the back of his throat. Rook whines and doesn’t miss the way Joseph sighs at the noises he makes. He tips his head closer to Joseph, tries to distract himself by tracing his eyes along the tattoos on his arms. 

There’s one he’s never noticed before and that steals his attention. It’s smaller and less flashy than what he’s used to from Joseph. Hidden on the underside of his forearm, something he’d miss if he hadn’t been looking for it. 

He wants to ask about it but his low grunt of pain makes his thoughts fly out of his head. 

Joseph’s nails dig into his flesh, breaking the skin and drawing a fresh stream of blood. It’s too much and has Rook convulsing. His hips arch up and away from the floor in an attempt to get away. 

Joseph knows him so well though, and he was anticipating that move. He shoves Rook down, forces his head to hit against the wall with a painful thump. Joseph moves to straddle Rook’s hips—though unlike John he isn’t aroused. This is just a job and Rook’s just an unruly child. 

“Where’s your lust now, hm?” Joseph whispers in the shell of his ear. Without warning a hand goes down to the front of Rook’s pants and grope. The material is awfully loose, if Rook was hard it would be difficult to hide it. Still Joseph grabs and pulls at Rook like that will suddenly reveal his sin. 

Rook slams his eyes shut and snarls, wrath bubbling up inside his chest. Threatening to spill over and crash around Joseph. 

His fingers itch to grab Joseph’s gun where it’s tucked in his jeans. 

“Father?”

Joseph jumps at the new voice, head whipping around fast towards the door. He has the decency to look somewhat caught in the act. His face doesn’t go red though, nor does he move to climb off Rook. Joseph’s hand is still cupping over the front of Rook’s pants. 

“Yes, my child? What is it?” 

“A fight has broken out, Father. It’s bad.”

“A fight?” Even with Joseph’s head turned Rook can see the corners of his lips turn down in a frown. “Can’t my brothers handle that? I’m busy right now.” 

“I know, I apologize Father, but both brother John and Jacob are already handling it. They personally asked for you.”

“Oh.” Joseph goes tense on top of him, giving him one last parting glance before he’s standing. “May I ask what the nature of the fight is?”

The woman before them seems uncomfortable. She keeps looking at Rook, glaring at him really. Finally Joseph clears his throat and the Peggie rights herself, speaking clearly. 

“About the sermon you delivered last night. About—“ she gestures towards Joseph, then goes to tap her arm. Rook squints and sees the beginning of black ink(?), but her arm goes down a second later and Rook can’t examine it further. 

Joseph gives Rook one last glance before he starts for the door. He hesitates though, not bothering to look over his shoulder as he flounders for words. 

“Have you heard the news going around, deputy?” 

Rook snorts, “that’s vague.”

Joseph just shakes his head like Rook’s the one who brought it up. “Never mind. You’d know what I was talking about if you did hear anything.” Then he does the most curious of things. He looks at Rook over his shoulder and _smiles._ One of those all knowing satisfied little grins that sends chills down Rook’s spine when he dares to hold Joseph’s eye. 

“Perhaps my brothers will inform you then.” Joseph leaves it at that, leaving Rook’s cell once and for all, the Peggie following at his heels like the loyal dog she is. 

The mere mention of news, of something different than the monotony of torture and captivity makes Rook’s brain light up with energy. It sounds so thrilling. And so Rook sits by the door just like he did when he first arrived and he listens. Most of what he hears is mindless chatter, but sometimes he catches a glimpse of something...off. 

Words that make sense on their own but in the context the Peggies are using them, they sound strange. 

Rook stays like that for what he thinks is days, sleeping very little because he would hate if he missed something useful. But it’s like that, slumped against the door, when he hears approaching footsteps. The clicking of dress shoes on cement. _John._ And he’s going fast. 

Like maybe he’s a little too eager to see Rook. 

Rook scrambles back, away from the door to sit in the middle of the floor, bracing himself. Before John can make it though, Rook hears him stop short. 

“Brother John!” 

“Steven—“

“Please, John, please just listen to me. Five minutes that’s all it will take.”

There’s a beat of silence, one where Rook throws caution to the wind and stands on shaky legs to get closer, hoping to hear better. 

“I don’t have time for this right now, if you have any concerns over your soulmate you should talk to Joseph.”

“But you’re the Baptist, you take confessions.”

Rook can practically hear the frown in John’s voice, see the wrinkle in his eyebrows. “Why would you have something to confess?”

“My mark—“ another pause, short this time, “it’s a name.”

He hears John make a soft considering noise in the back of his throat before muttering a soft, “huh.” There’s the click of Rook’s cell and he stumbles back on shaky legs. Frowning when it doesn’t immediately swing open.

“Do you recognize the name, Steven?”

“Yes.” 

“And? Go on, you wanted to confess.”

“Y-yeah, right.” 

Finally the door opens and John walks in, motioning for the man behind him to follow. Rook goes still where he stands—it’s always so far between when he sees anyone besides the Seeds. 

Steven takes furtive glances between Rook and John, worrying his lip with his teeth. 

John places a hand on Rook’s shoulder and guides him back until his spine hits the wall and he gets the message to slide down on the floor. 

“Well?” John prods impatiently, looking over his shoulder as he kneels by Rook’s side. “Out with it, I’m very busy today.” 

“Right, yes, brother John.” Rook watches as Steven’s adam’s apple bobs with his swallow. “I...I hurt this person.” He hesitates, moving on when John just turns back to face Rook, hands grasping the edge of Rook’s shirt to reveal his tattoo. 

“She was a part of the resistance and I...I killed her.”

_That_ steals John’s attention away, has him standing so fast that even Rook gets sick trying to track him. 

“You’re sure?” John asks, hands braced on Steven’s shoulder. 

“I—yes, of course.”

“Fuck.” Jonn steps away, fingers balling into fists as he paces.

“Brother John?”

“Leave—and don’t tell anyone what you told me.”

Steven gives a quick nod and Rook realizes that he looks pale. John didn’t give him the reaction he was hoping for obviously. 

John grabs his radio and says something too softly for Rook to hear. This is the news, isn’t it? The excitement he had been hoping for. So why does he suddenly feel so sick? 

“Have you noticed anything on your skin, Rook?” John asks him, going to sit crossed legged in front of him. Head propped up on a cupped palm. “Say your forearm?” 

He shakes his head. Though the shirt he’s wearing is long sleeved and he hadn’t had a reason to pull them up. He makes a note to himself to check when John’s gone. 

John’s quiet after that, he doesn’t push the matter and they sit in silence. It’s awkward, painfully so. And Rook considers falling asleep just to escape, but John keeps fidgeting and glancing around like he’s waiting for something to happen. 

When he hears the footsteps coming down the hall he realizes who John had called. 

Jacob’s the first one to walk in, heavy set eyes and sharp intentions written all over his body. “This better be important, John.” 

Joseph huffs at Jacob’s brashness but doesn’t say anything, instead taking up position on the wall opposite Rook. 

“It is. Another one of our people came to me, it looks like we were right about their soulmates. It’s someone they’ve hurt or killed, someone that’s not on their side so to speak.”

Rook stares. He stares and blinks and looks at the three men and no one explains a damn thing. So he speaks before anyone else can because they seem to be taking John’s information in very calmly. 

“What?”

No one answers him, in fact they aren’t really looking at him. 

“Soulmates? Like,” Rook laughs, he can’t help it, “from fairytales?” 

Joseph smiles at that. “I assure you, deputy, this is very much real.” Joseph nears him and extends his arm, shows Rook what looks like a blot of ink on his skin. Rook reaches up and touches it, rubbing Joseph’s arm carefully. It doesn’t come off. It could be a tattoo—but that’d be weird, right? 

Rook digests this about as well as anyone can. He meets Joseph’s eyes and says the obvious. “That man said he had a name on his arm. This...it isn’t a name.”

“Not yet,” John steps in. “That’s only how it starts. God will give it to all of us in time.” 

Rook hums and drops Joseph’s arm, consciously rubbing his own arm under his shirt. “Everyone has one?” 

Joseph nods, “everyone.”

“But people aren’t too happy with the results.” Rook guesses, and gets a bark of laughing approval from Jacob.

“So your brain hasn’t melted, yet. Clever boy.”

Rook ignores that and looks off towards the floor. He’ll pray for the sorry soul who has one of the Seeds for a soulmate. The crazy bastards that they are. 

“Do you have one, Rookie?” Jacob keeps going, a teasing smile on his face. “With your track record I bet they’re probably dead because of your righteous cause. In fact you were probably the one to put a bullet in their head.” 

Rook sinks back into the wall, drawing his knees up to his chest. His head tips down and he avoids Jacob’s sharp gaze. He hears John answer for him, which he’s thankful for. He can’t speak right now. The idea of having a perfect half, someone who actually cares, sounds wonderful, doesn’t it? But Jacob’s right. 

He doesn’t want that mark on his skin. He thinks in the future he might ask John to cut it off him.

“Take him, Jacob.” Joseph cuts in, dragging Rook out of his thoughts with a hand on his shoulder. “Let him shower, it’s been a few weeks. And maybe some new clothes.” 

It takes a moment for Rook to stand, a little too long for Jacob apparently, because the man grabs him by the back of the neck and hauls him the rest of the way to his feet. 

Jacob keeps a steadying hand on his bicep as they walk the halls. Forcing him to go quicker than his body allows. 

“So you’re still cleansing me then?” Rook asks, hating how weak his voice has become. Not exactly hoarse, no, that would be impossible with how often he speaks to the Seeds, but it’s different then it was before the world exploded. He sounds so unsure now, afraid too. Even if he acts like he’s not, even if he thinks he’s used to what they’re doing to him. He’s scared. 

“Yep. That’s what Joseph wants.” 

Jacob steers him into a room, taking the corner too sharply and making Rook bang his shoulder on the doorframe. 

It’s a communal shower, a different one than John took him to, but they’re the only two people in the room. Jacob’s a cocky bastard if he doesn’t think he’ll need his guards. Though Rook knows that on a good day it’d be difficult to get past Jacob, and now? Half starved and exhausted, his body covered in scars and fighting an infected tattoo? He wouldn’t stand a chance. 

Jacob shoves him under a shower head and stares him down. “Alright, strip.” 

Rook shifts on his feet. Considers for a moment resisting just for modesty’s sake, but the things Jacob’s has seen...Rook is willing to be that he’s seen everyone at their worse, and he’s not John. He won’t leer at Rook’s dick or make sexual jokes. 

With a sigh Rook tears at his clothes. Turning away from Jacob as he keeps his arm pressed closed to his abdomen. He thinks for a moment that Jacob will see through him, that he’ll grab Rook’s arm and look for a mark himself, but nothing happens except for the sudden spray of water above him just as he wrestles his jeans and boxers off. 

He shakes from the strange warmth of the shower—definitely not what he had been expecting. His wounds sting, they’re weeping blood and pus. Calling out with pain every time he moves. 

“John really did a number on you, huh?”

Rook doesn’t answer, he doesn’t say that some of his bruises are from when him and Jacob had last sparred. 

Carefully Rook tucks his face into his neck, looking down at his forearm. The left then the right. At first he doesn’t see anything, it’s hard to see something that’s not bruises or blood, but then he spots it. It’s almost lost among the purples and yellow of his skin, but it’s there. 

A mark. A mark that means, if the Seeds haven’t gone even more crazy, that he has a soulmate. The idea still seems so strange. 

“Water’s gonna cut off soon, deputy, c’mon. Clean up.” 

Rook blinks away the water hanging off his lashes and prays that he’s more awake then he feels. This has to work, he has to leave. Even if it’s to the surface, to the radiated wasteland that will kill him. He won’t live like this, he can’t. There’s no point. 

He glances over his shoulder and sees Jacob switch the water off. He kicks a pile in his direction that he hadn’t noticed before. Clothes. He doesn’t like his chances of escaping naked. He bends down and dresses as quickly as he can, wincing at the pull of fabric on wet skin. On irritated wounds that haven't healed quite yet. 

“Let’s go.” Jacob’s tone doesn’t leave any room for argument. He sounds so sure of himself, so proud. Asshole. 

There’s a bubbling anger that wells up inside Rook, making the wrath on his chest itch where John cut into him. Seems like he’s still a sinner, that John’s methods aren’t full proof. 

Jacob shoves lightly at Rook’s lower back, pushing him in front of him. That’s when he takes his chance, moves from the momentum of Jacob’s hand and breaks into a run. 

Oh he doesn’t get far. It’s fucking pathetic. He falls down hard, his whole body shaking as he hits the ground. It takes him a second, maybe a whole minute, before he can open his eyes and figure out what happened. Jacob comes into view, his face a snarled smile. 

He waves something in front of Rook’s face, a little grey rectangle that buzzes in his hand. “You’re familiar with tasers, aren’t you? Neat little things.”

Rook blinks and coughs. His whole body shakes, convulsing once more before he passes out. 

Waking up is a new experience entirely. There’s a fog in his head that doesn’t seem to want to clear and everything hurts with a renewed passion for giving him pain. 

“You’re awake, good. I was starting to get bored.” 

Rook can’t find the source of the voice, but he turns his head around anyway. Tries to lift his limbs too but finds he can’t do that either. 

“You’re tied up tight this time, no use doing that.”

Rook bites the inside of his cheek painfully hard, tries to figure out why he recognizes that voice. The fact that he can’t draw a name out of the depths of his mind scares the crap out of him. 

“Look at me, deputy.”

He wishes he could tell the man that he’s been trying to do exactly that since he woke up but his tongue feels thick. Stuck to the roof of his mouth and dry when he risks a swallows. 

There’s a ringing in his ears when the man stops talking. The silence settling around him as the darkness of his closed lids set in. He fears that he’s gone blind. That just maybe he’s dead. 

“I’m being kind, deputy, don’t test my patience.” A hand is on his cheek. Rubbing in small circles that go up and up, ghosting over his eyelids and applying the smallest amount of pressure. He twitches, arms jerking violently. That’s when he feels it. The scratch of rope against the sore skin of his wrists. Binding his hands together. 

He’s standing though. Not lying on a bed or...a floor. That’s where he was last time. Before...before...red hair and a hard ground. A shock that ran through his body and made the world fade. 

He’s standing, toes just barely touching the ground. He tips his head back with a groan, shaking away the man’s hand. Finally he peels his eyes open and sees just what is keeping him upright, because his knees feel so weak. 

It’s a meat hook. A curved metal spike sticking out of a wall that the rope on his wrists have been strung up on. 

“This is your new room.” 

Rook tips his head back down and almost throws up when the world goes shaky. He focuses on the man in front of him. Bright blue eyes and a thick beard, a key around his throat and tattoos that go on for miles. 

John. John Seed. One of the three people who have been cleansing him in the name of God. It all comes back to him in a flash. John must see the recognition on his face because he smiles so wide at Rook. Like he’s proud of him.

“My new room,” Rook repeats John’s words, tests his voice and finds it working better than he expected. “Why?” 

“Consider it punishment for running. We give you an inch and you take a mile. It only proved that your soul still isn’t clean, that you’re still trying to fight this.” 

“But—“

“No!” John snaps, a hand tight around his throat lighting quick, “shut up! There’s nothing you can say to make this better. Just take it, Rook, make it easier on yourself.” John gives his throat one last squeeze and walks away. Closing the barred cell of his door as he leaves. 

Rook can’t help but be thankful for the lamps hanging around the room. Light is nice, even if he can’t move. 

Screaming has become his normal. He doesn’t fight back—he can't, he's tied up—he doesn’t beg or cry, he just screams in pain. He wants to look for a flicker of something behind his captors’ eyes. He wants to see sympathy or hurt. Any indication that they regret what they’ve done. 

It’s no surprise when he comes up empty. They like to remind Rook how useless he is now. That he was once the figurehead of the resistance but now he’s nothing. And that they won’t kill him, they make that clear. He’s to be an example but not a martyr. 

Rook hates them for that. For ruining his once blemish free skin, for ruining his voice which has now grown impossibly painful from frayed vocal chords. He hates how much he smells, that his stomach is always growling and it’s like he can never get enough water. 

But he hates them most of all when they talk about the marks they have on their arm. They tell him how their followers are all waiting in anticipation to see who will get a herald as a lover. That it’s bound to be one of the resistance. They’re almost positive it’ll bridge the final gap between their flock and what few sinners they have in the bunker. 

Though they like to tell Rook that the amount of his friends who have converted are growing day by day without him by their side. The Seeds like to think he’s some kind of messiah to the resistance. Maybe at one point Rook would agree. Not now though, now he’s just a guy who wishes for this hell to end. 

Rook tries to talk one day, when Joseph won’t quiet down and he wants to tell him off. On a day where he’s feeling particularly bold. But nothing comes out but a garbled mess, a terrible scratching in his throat that leaves him coughing. 

He hates what Joseph is saying. He doesn’t want to hear it. 

“Soon, deputy. The marks on our skin have almost formed and soon my brothers and I will know. It’s a joyous day, we plan on throwing a party. A morale boost, if you will. John’s idea.” 

Rook squirms, arms long since have gone dead. All the feeling gone. 

“How about your mark?”

Rook manages a shrug and Joseph takes that, thank god. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, deputy. Someone will tell you the news and perhaps, if we’re feeling generous, we’ll track down your soulmate for you.” 

Tomorrow comes quick, he wakes to the hustle and bustle of the morning starting—and he yelps. 

He coughs and kicks out with his legs, nailing John in the thigh. He’s standing so close, hands lingering on Rook’s skin almost reverently. And when he was at his most vulnerable, too. Unguarded in his sleep. 

John is soft when he speaks, all gentle edges that are so unlike him. “Did you know?”

Rook doesn’t say anything, he’s stunned into silence when he meets John’s gaze for the first time and sees how red his face is, that his skin is a splotchy mess. Like he’s been crying. 

“Rook?” John urges, crowding his space again until their chests are touching. “Did you know it was us? Did you—“ he breaks, voice cracking as he tapers off. “Why didn’t you say anything?” His head falls forward on Rook’s collarbone. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know, I swear. If I knew I would never have laid a hand on you.”

Rook pitches his voice low, whispers out a question because that’s the only way he won’t strain his vocal chords. “What?” 

“It’s us.” John says back, and he steps away from Rook and holds out his arm. His whole body shaking as Rook’s eyes drop down, eats up tattoos and scars until he finds what John wants him to. 

His soulmate mark. A name. _His_ name. 

_No._

_No, no, no, nononono._

_Not him. He won’t accept it. John can take that information and fucking shove it._

John touches his cheek and whimpers when Rook flinches away. “I’m sorry.” 

He shakes his head, “does your…” he coughs, body shaking as he strains his voice, “family know?” 

John trembles as he keeps backing up, looking off behind him to the open door. “Oh, Rook. Of course, they do. Look at your arm.”

It’s hard to, with the way they’re tied up above him limp and useless, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He finds it though, with the right twist of his head. A blackened spot on his arm. 

One. Two. Three. 

_John. Joseph. Jacob._

Rook cries. He breaks. He kicks and screams, yells words that no one can understand, not even him. He tugs at the hook keeping him tied up, tries to get himself off the wall so he can curl up and cry. 

All the while John is talking, speaking in this ridiculously soft placating voice. His yelling draws attention, it’s bound to with the door open and one of the heralds with him. 

Joseph and Jacob come running because _of course._

“What did you do? We said we’d get him together.” Jacob sounds angry, it’s a tone Rook’s never heard before. He’s used to a quiet controlled temper from Jacob. Not the yelling to mix with his own. 

“I couldn’t wait, I had to see him, to explain—“

“Well good fucking job, goddamn idiot, move.”

Jacob’s hands are on him. Running up his sides and skimming his chest. Applying pressure there until Rook’s heart skips a beat and he has to suck in air to keep from choking. 

“Easy there,” Jacob soothes, sounding so utterly _wrong._ “Breathe for me.” Jacob reaches up, fingers skimming across his mark and up to the ropes. “I’m gonna take you down now, okay?” And Jacob waits, he rubs along Rook’s pulse point until he nods his consent that yes, he’d like to be let down.

Jacob pulls him in tight to his chest, lifting him and moving his hands forward. His arms fall limp without the hook to hold them up, draping around Jacob’s neck. He wants to scream, to kick and bite, but he’s too weak for that. His arms are a tingling mess and he can’t feel his legs, Jacob’s the only thing keeping him up. 

“Cut his arms free, Joe.” 

Rook flinches at the soft touch of Joseph’s fingers against his skin. He squirms when Jacob lifts him into his arms, like they mean something to each other. Rook can’t forgive so easily. Even if he’s tucking his face into the crook of Jacob’s neck—he’s so tired, his body seeking out the warmth and comfort of another person after being denied for so long. 

Everything hurts when Jacob finally puts him down. The bed is _soft,_ has Rook groaning as his eyes slip closed. He stretches the best he can, wincing as his muscles pull painfully taut. 

“Should I run a bath?”

Rook peers up at Jacob and sees the anger there, but for once it’s not directed at him. 

“I think you should sit down, John.”

“Jacob—“

“Sit.”

He hears John’s soft mutterings of disdain, but he does as his brother says. Collapsing in a chair off to Rook’s left. He wants to sleep, his body is screaming for it even if his brain is telling him that he isn’t safe. He’s in a room with the three men who have been slowly killing him. The sound of running water jerks him back to consciousness, has him blinking rapidly as Jacob hovers in his field of view.

“Gonna get you clean, alright?” He pauses, fingers twitching by his side, “Here, let me…” he bites down hard on his lip, hefting Rook into his arms once more like he weighs nothing. Which at this point he probably doesn’t, he can’t remember the last time he ate properly. 

Jacob undresses him, he helps him over the lip of the tub and stands off to the side uncertainly as Rook sinks into the warm water. Joseph is the one who cleans him, dragging a rag across his skin with soft murmurs of apology. 

Rook keeps quiet, he lets himself be handled like a child when he’s lifted back out of the water and dressed in clean, soft clothes. He lays back down on the bed and sits still when Jacob cleans his wounds and pumps him full of antibiotics. He accepts the water and broth Joseph spoon feeds him and ignores John sulking in the corner. 

He falls asleep to the sound of far away voices arguing. 

The Seeds don’t get the party they dreamt of, nor do they get to celebrate. Their moods are ruined like the rest of the bunker’s inhabitants. Something inside everyone sort of snaps after that, though Rook can’t remember an exact moment when everything went downhill. Only that it seemed as if one bad thing happened after another. 

It’s like God is punishing them.

There are so many hopeless souls. So many people who kill their soulmate in cold blood all for a cause that doesn’t seem so important now. There aren’t enough able bodies to aid the ones who are spiraling into anger at what they’ve done. 

It’s when people start to off themselves that Rook realizes that this isn’t going to work. That Joseph’s New Eden is well and truly fucked. It’s a matter that he wouldn’t really care about it if it didn’t make the Seeds hover around him non stop. So afraid that he’ll be among those who kill themselves over the situation he finds himself in. 

“Rook?” 

Rook doesn’t answer, not like it matters because John is there to answer for him. 

“He’s not speaking, Joseph.”

“Oh.” 

From under Rook’s mound of blankets he can hear the visceral disappointment in Joseph’s voice. 

“Can I try?” 

John sighs, shifting on the bed to stand. “Go for it. I’m going to find Jacob.” 

Joseph lowers himself on the bed slowly. Forcing Rook to roll into him. He hates the contact but the bed is too small to jump away from him. At least he has the blanket to act as a barrier, it keeps him from having to look at Joseph. 

“I found a book that I used to read as a child—I think we could maybe try it...together,” Rook practically hears the gears turning in Joseph’s head as he flounders with his words. It’s painful, the silence. 

He clears his throat and tries again. “It’s a nice read. Takes your mind off things.” 

Rook shakes just by hearing Joseph’s voice. His body has some terrible conditioned response to it. By the third page there are tears slipping down his face silently, and it’s not long after that where he’s crying. Sobs racking his body and making Joseph read louder. 

By the end of the day, between John’s constant stream of talking, Joseph’s reading and just the way Jacob _watches_ him—it’s too much. He’s ready to snap. He needs to leave. And so he gets up in the middle of the night, careful not to disturb John at the end of the bed, and he creeps outside the room and into the hallway. 

The lighting is scarce at nighttime, makes it easier for him to walk without anyone telling the Seeds their other half is somewhere he shouldn’t be. Not like he doesn’t have free range of the bunker, he does, but someone always trails after him. Always poking and prodding, asking if he needs anything. If he’s okay, if he wants to talk. 

He isn’t sure at first where he’s walking, he just takes turns as they come until he finds himself at the bottom of a staircase. It’s not blocked off, despite leading to the surface, but it makes sense that no one would open up the doors. No one wants to murder Joseph’s flock while also killing themselves. 

As he climbs some part of him realizes what he’s doing before his brain catches up. 

He’s leaving.

He’s never going to return. He’ll let himself die. He won’t allow those men to play house after all they’ve done to him. Some people don’t deserve a happy ending and they’re those people.

When he’s up top, staring through a small glass window, he notices there are two doors. So he _won’t_ kill everyone. Thank god. 

He opens the first door and is only mildly surprised when it opens without any resistance. No alarm to alert what he’s done. Just silence and the inner workings of the bunker. 

It shuts behind him just as quietly.

The second door is louder, squeals as it moves and red lights flash around him. He prays that no one inside knows what’s going on. He doesn’t want anyone to try and stop him, he’ll be thrown into another cell, kept locked away and forgotten. 

He won’t let that happen again. 

*****

Ten years is a long time to let people believe you’re dead. Morally it's questionable, and if he told any of the travelers that he’s come across, the story of his soulmates—they might just think he’s a bad man. 

So he avoids telling that story. Instead he asks where they’re from, if they’ve seen the new wildlife, if they plan on staying in Hope County or if they’re just passing through. 

Most people want to talk about before.

What’d you do for a living? Did you have any kids? Do you remember the Fourth of July barbecues your family would have? What about Christmas? 

He avoids people the best he can. That is until a teenager wandering through the woods tells him about Prosperity. She speaks about it like it’s heaven. 

“A place meant for people who are avoiding their soulmates, whatever that reason may be. They don’t ask questions.”

It sounds too good to be true. He tells her so.

“I guess.” She shifts on her feet and looks off into the distance. “Better than New Eden, though.”

He feels his stomach lace up with knots. As time goes on he’s been hearing more and more about New Eden, and the signs they’ve put up—The Father was right—doesn’t help him forget. 

“Who runs Prosperity?” He asks just to change the subject.

“My mom and dad, actually.”

He hums, leaning his head back against a tree and closing his eyes. “That explains why you hype it up so much.”

She laughs, “yeah, I guess. I mean, I’ll miss it.”

“You’re leaving?” She seems too young for that. She can’t be older than 16. 

“For now. I’m looking for more people. There’s got to be others out there.”

Rook nods, finally opening his eyes and focusing back on her. He searches her face, hoping against hope that there’s a chance she’s who he’s starting to think she is. 

She’s about to leave when he dares himself to ask. 

“What’s your parents’ name? So I know who to ask for.” 

“Nick and Kim. I’m Carmina, by the way.”

He nods, “Rook.”

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes, but he’s gone between the trees before she can ask any questions. They’ll talk when she returns from her trip, he’s sure. He needs to get to know his goddaughter. 

Settling into New Eden is a different story. People remember him and that’s a hard pill to swallow when all he thinks of himself is as a failure. Hearing different is strange, but maybe he’ll get used to it. 

His friends hover, they ask questions endlessly, and most of all they tell him he shouldn’t go see the Seeds. 

Plural. Seeds. So all of them are alive. The thought makes him sick. They’ve been living behind walls and preaching while he’s been stuck as a hermit. Too afraid that they’d find him and realize he’s not really dead. He prays that they won’t want him, after the shock wears off of seeing him alive—because despite his friends’ protest, he is going to New Eden. 

He finds it hard to believe anyone would want what he’s become. The radiation hasn’t been kind. He’s all sorts of fucked up. Not as fast as he used to be, not as limber, not as quick to anger but quicker to fatigue. That’s not it either, his body is a patchwork collection of scars and sores. 

That’s what makes him hesitate at the gates. What if they don’t recognize him? What if they think he’s an imposter meant to toy with their hearts and they just kill him? Would he care?

With a deep breath he raises his fist and knocks. Counting off inside his head until a slab of wood gets pulled back in the form of a peep hole and a face appears. 

“Who are you?” The nameless face asks.

“Deputy Rook,” the moniker slips off his tongue before he can help himself. “Can you tell the Father I’m here?”

“The Father is busy.” The wood begins to slide back into place but Rook jolts forward. Trapping his hand into place to stop it. 

“Just tell him, please. He’ll know who I am.”

There’s a pause, and for a minute Rook think it’s worked, but then the nameless face sighs. “The Father isn’t here. No one knows where he is except for his heralds. He’s been praying for months now…”

Anger rises up in Rook, the bastard. Joseph’s not allowed to disappear, he has a job to do and leaving isn’t it. 

“Who’s running the place then?” Rook snaps.

“His heralds.”

Rook mutters under his breath, he can’t imagine his brothers being too happy about that. “Well can you tell them then?” Rook steps back and puts his hands in his pockets, tipping his head to the side in exasperation. 

“Sure.” 

Then the slab closes and Rook is left alone. Wondering if the nameless face will actually do as told or if Rook is going to be forced to break into New Eden, though he imagines that will get him killed.

Rook’s feet eventually get sore and he finds himself sitting on a nearby rock. Then he begins to get tired and he curls up on said rock. Palms flattened under his head as he closes his eyes. Someone is bound to come by and see him, maybe realize it’s him—Rook—and not some stranger. Hopefully it won’t be a bear or cougar, he’d rather not die right now. Him and Joseph have unfinished business. 

It’s dark when he wakes up, and there are voices around him. Too close for comfort. He goes to sit up but the muzzle of a rifle presses to the center of his chests and he stops. 

He swallows and drops his hand to his gun. Nonchalant as can be. 

“I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Rook recognizes that voice. Rough and scratchy, intimidating too, like he’s moments away from killing you. 

Rook drags his eyes up and nearly shakes apart from fear. “Jacob.”

“Who are you?” Jacob asks, clearly not liking that Rook knows his name.

“You don’t remember me?” He jokes, “because I don’t think I’ll ever forget you, Jacob.” Slowly as not to get shot, he tugs up the sleeve of his shirt and holds his arm out for all to see. 

Which is really just a small group—a hunting party if the deer slung around one man’s shoulder is anything to go by. 

He hears the hitch in Jacob’s breathing when he sees his soulmate mark. The gun falls away and Jacob crouches in front of him. Rook lets him pet at his cheek and kiss his forehead, he sits through it only because of how nice it feels after being abused and neglected for the past 17 years. 

Also because it’ll get him closer to Joseph. The one who started this mess and left him with the most nightmares. He could handle the physical pain, but Joseph’s mind games made him break. 

“C’mon,” Jacob eventually says, hauling him to his feet. “Let’s get you inside. John’ll want to see you.” He puts his hand on Rook’s shoulder, clinging to him like he’s bound to slip away if Jacob’s not careful. “God, I can’t believe it. You should be dead. We all thought you were dead.”

Rook doesn’t say anything to that, just hums softly and follows at Jacob’s heels when the gate swings open for them. 

It’s obvious that people still look up to Jacob, even though he’s not their holy Father, they respect him. They love him even. And with that undying attention along with Jacob’s old age—he’s got to be nearing 60—there’s come a softness to him that he didn’t possess before. He smiles at people and tosses a ball back to a playing group of children with a smile. 

It’s jarring, makes Rook question whether or not he should still be angry at them. But then he sees John and realizes that some things don’t change at all. 

His clothes are so very different from the rest of New Eden’s people, it’s almost modern. Reminds Rook of Prosperity. He has a handgun tucked into his jeans—different to the bows most people favor here. And he still has that stupid earring in his left ear. 

There’s a pompous air about him as he speaks to a scattered group. He gestures wildly with his hands and smiles so wide when they cheer along with his words. He lives for the attention. 

“John doesn’t seem too bothered that your brother is MIA.” Rook says snidely, not daring to get closer just yet. 

Jacob stops when he realizes Rook isn’t following, he sighs real heavy and shakes his head. “We know where Joseph is. He’s safe...and where he wants to be.”

“Someone said he’s praying. That he’s been praying for months.”

Jacob nods, not denying it at all but clearly hesitant to add onto what Rook has said. 

“Why?” Rook asks when Jacob’s still quiet. 

“There have been very few moments in my life where I’ve actually known Joseph’s motives. Ask him yourself.” 

“He’s not here though, is he?” 

Jacob’s lips tighten into a thin line. “No. But John and I can take you to him. He can explain things and maybe you’ll understand him better than I did.” 

Rook wants to press him, wants to ask Jacob when they can go, if it’s possible to leave right now. If they can see Joseph by the end of today. He wants this chapter of his life to be over with. 

John won’t let that happen though. Because it’s _John,_ and he has to cry and cling to Rook once they’re behind closed doors and Jacob tells John who the scarred man standing beside him really is. John whispers softly into Rook’s ear, laying kisses over his cheeks and forehead, hugging him tightly until his lungs start to burn. 

John doesn’t want Rook to go anywhere. And he certainly doesn’t want Rook to go looking for his brother, because that would mean John isn’t quite as important to Rook as John would like to think. 

But apparently the threat of disappearing again is enough to make John crumble. And so they go to Joseph, to his little hut far from everyone. It’s quaint, if you ignore the wolves that try to attack them along the way. 

When they arrive Rook insists that he goes in alone. Mutters something about it being more intimate that way, because the Seeds are still under the pretense that he’ll stay. That he loves them, water under the bridge and all that crap. 

But seeing Joseph again, kneeling in prayer in the middle of the floor, it sparks anger inside him. 

“Joseph.”

His shoulders twitch, body going tight at the sound of Rook’s voice. He doesn’t move though. Rook makes his footsteps louder, he makes himself known. 

“Joseph,” he tries again, stopping directly behind him. He waits a beat and bends down to touch his back. That grabs his attention—when was the last time someone touched him like that?

“Rook?” His voice is broken when he glances over his shoulder. “Is that you?”

Of course, leave it to Joseph Seed to be the one to recognize him. 

“Yeah.”

Joseph’s on his feet in an instant, probably going to hug him if he had to guess. Rook doesn’t let him get that far. He winds his fist back and hits Joseph square in the face. He feels the crack of bone as his nose breaks—he hopes it heals back crooked. The hit is enough to make Joseph stumble backwards, giving Rook more time to pounce. 

Rook takes him to the ground and hits him again. And again. And again. Until there’s just the sound of flesh on flesh, until Rook’s knuckle breaks along with the bones in Joseph’s face. His jaw and cheek crack, a tooth pops loose and flies somewhere behind them. 

And through it all Joseph keeps quiet. He doesn’t call for help or beg Rook to stop. Rook wishes he would. 

Not like they’re being quiet though, Joseph is still grunting from pain and Rook is making his own angry noises that carries throughout the woods. 

It’s enough to bring John and Jacob running, to have them pulling him off of their brother. They don’t hit him back though, and that’s enough of a surprise to leave Rook standing dumbly in the middle of the room as they crouch by Joseph. 

Rook’s done here, he realizes, and so he turns and walks out.

He hears them calling out for him. Begging and pleading like they have any right at all. Rook feels nothing in his heart and he walks away and never looks back. 


End file.
